


Alive Again

by IceWaterSteam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Arson, Baker Harry, Evil Ex Perrie, Genius Liam, Ghost Safaa, Ghost Whisperer AU, Monk AU, Multi, OCD Justin, Profiler Harry, Profiler Louis, Psychic Niall (sorta), Serial Killers, Zayn Can See Ghost, Zayn Lost His Memory, Zayn died, criminal minds au, he's alive now, past Drug Dealer Zayn, psych au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:37:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceWaterSteam/pseuds/IceWaterSteam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik, dead for 2 days, wakes up in a morgue with a gunshot in his chest. Unable to remember his broken past,  he decides to start over working in a bakery with Harry Styles, who's the wisest person and the most horrible joke teller he's ever met.</p><p>2 weeks after meeting Harry, his now flatmate, he starts to see things Harry can't see. He starts to see people Harry can't. After his "imaginary friends" lead to the accidental solving of a murder, Zayn and Harry land a job in the FBI where they meet Justin, an agent with OCD that leads to solving crimes, Niall, a supposedly psychic crime solver, Louis who has a gift for reading people, and Liam, who has an IQ of 184. And they all seem to know a little too much about Zayn's past.</p><p>But when a serial killer begins to stalk them all, more ghost arrive, less secrets are shared and more are discovered. And Zayn's protectiveness over Liam might just get him killed (, or maybe already did).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

When Zayn first opens his eyes his pupils burn, even though he's somewhere dark. He's in a spall space, his head hurts. His body feels like it's on overload. He can't seem to move, so he wiggles around, but his efforts are in vain. Where was he?

"Hello?" he calls, wiggling even more. He knows he shouldn't try so hard, he could hurt himself, but everything hurts already, so it wouldn't make much difference.

He can hear a mumble of soft voices, and screams to get their attention. His voice is hoarse, but loud enough that someone calls, "Where are you?" Instead of answering, he bangs against the small space, wiggling around in hopes they'll find him.

It takes a minute, but he can feel himself moving and the sound of something opening, something like a drawer. He sees light and his eyes burn. He suddenly feels cold, and shivers. He sits up just to see two pairs of amazed and horrified eyes staring at him. "Zayn Malik," one asks.

"Who?"

"Go get a doctor," the other one yells. The first nods, running off while the second helps him off the thing he was sitting on. His legs wobble and it's hard for him to stand. With much difficulty he manages to help Zayn walk to the door. As they leave Zayn looks back, staring at the open drawer with the number 66 on it. Around it many others, numbered off as well. In them are dead bodies.

Zayn stares harder, biting his tongue when he realizes he was one if them.

~

He finds out his name is Zayn Malik by a kind voice that seemed all too pitiful of him. Dr. Peazer was her name but she insisted on Zayn calling her Danielle, was very careful with Zayn, as if she might break him. Zayn hated it; he didn't like to be taken care of, as if he couldn't do for himself. But he didn't snap on Danielle, knowing that he needed it in his state. Her patience was calming, her voice steady and soothing. She talked to Zayn, telling him he's been dead 2 days, saying foul play had been involved, including where he was found and asking if he remember what happened, but never giving an explanation as to why he was here; why he woke up.

"I have a bullet hole in my chest." Danielle frowns at Zayn, looking concered and pitiful. "Yes, I know. We're still trying to find out what kind of gun it was. But we do know the gunshot was what killed you. I expected it to be the intense beating that you got. Your internal organs are to be forever bruised. We'll have to check on that." Zayn nods, but it didn't feel like his organs were damaged. It didn't feel like anything was damaged. The gunshot was there, but it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt since he woke up. He felt great.

"Danielle," He says quietly, cutting off her rambling for a minute, "nobody came." She looks back at him confused, quirking an eyebrow. "What do you mean, Zayn?"

"My family isn't here."

Danielle's face drop, looking like a kicked puppy. Zayn didn't think she had the right when he was the zombie. "Zayn, your records say you have no family." It hits Zayn harder than the bullet in his chest.

~

He finds out later, after his organs were examined (they were in great shape, the healthiest Danielle's ever seen) and he was released from the hospital that he didn't go to Uni, he didn't have a job, he didn't have a house or even a flat. He had nothing in his name, nothing he could call his, and worst if all, no one to turn to.

He wanders the streets, in search of something without really looking for it. He doesn't know where he's gonna sleep tonight without a home. He doesn't know what he's gonna eat without food or money. He sorta wishes he stayed dead. 

Without looking up he passes buulding after building in the clothes he died in, stained with blood. He looks like he killed someone, he decides.

His stomach growls at him, demanding food but he doesn't listen to it, he waits until his stomach hurts bad enough that he feels like he's starving himself. He looks around, notices a building with a poster outside of it that says free cupcakes.

It'll have to do.

He trudges to the building, crossing the street without bothering to look both ways. If a car hits him it'd be a blessing, but unfortunately he makes it across the street without tiremarks on his forehead.

He opens the door to the bakery, immediately hit with the smell of baking cupcakes and Indies music. People are running around, children chasing each other and long time friends just messing around. It makes him smile for the first time since he decided to wake up. Walking to the counter he spots a tray of cupcakes, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, in a row, covered in the perfect amount of frosting, all chocolate, but behind then is a row of all vanilla frosting. Zayn takes 1, not bothering to ask if these were the free ones. If he got arrssted for stealing cupcakes it'd be the highlight of his day.

"Zayn?" Zayn turns around, his mouth full of vanilla cupcake, only to find a pair of green eyes staring at him with the same expression as the assistant doctors that found him.

"Harry?" For a moment, a split second, Zayn feels as if he's seen him before, as if he knew him, but as soon as the feeling's there it's gone.


	2. Chapter 1

"H-how do you know my name?" Zayn snaps his mouth close after he says this, because how did he know this bloke's name?

"I... Zayn," The bloke, Harry, stutters out. Suddenly 2 lanky arms wrap around, long enough that Zayn feels like they could fit around him twice. Zayn stands awkwardly as he gets squeezed, his arms hanging loosely at his side but he doesn't try to wiggle out if his grip.

"Zayn," he mumbles again, squeezing Zayn even tighter if possible, "I thought you were dead." Zayn suddenly pushes out of his grip, shoving Harry a good foot away. His nostrils flare, his eyes squint. He growls lowly, "Who are you?" Harry looks shocked, cocking an eyebrow. "'M Harry." Harry points at himself, and at this time Zayn realizes everyone in the bakery is staring at them, confused looks on their faces, so he swallows his anger and sighs.

"'M sorry," Harry says. Zayn looks at him, still glaring, so Harry quickly follows with, "I've got you confused with someone else. I've got a mate named Zayn. Black hair, brown eyes, always wearing leather. Ring a bell?" Harry chuckles lightly, and it makes Zayn smile. He doesn't ask about his mate Zayn and why he's supposedly dead like Zayn just was, because Harry's voice was so soothing, like Ms. Peazer, so Zayn trusts him.

"Okay."

~

Zayn's lazy.

He doesn't like bathing, or moving, or talking. Hell, sometimes he doesn't like breathing! He's gotten off Harry's couch thrice since he's been at Harry's flat (he's been there 2 days, keep in mind) 2 times to piss and 1 to get something to eat.

Harry calls it pathetic.

He begs Zayn to get off the couch, to get a job, but Zayn only hisses and claws like an angry cat. Harry backs off, but he always comes back (he has a history with cats. This cat, Dusty, hangs outside around the flat, and though fond with Harry it used to do the same thing Zayn did) so each time Zayn amps it up, begging Harry would drop it. He doesn't.

The thing is, Zayn never asked Harry to take him in. (Except he kinda did.) And he never asked Harry to have such a comfortable couch. (He asked for that, too.) And even if he did, (he did,) Harry could've said no. He could've let Zayn be homeless and stupid and lazy by himself.

Except Harry isn't that kind of person. He's smart and punctual and kind. He feeds stray kittens (Dusty) and watches his neighbors dog and babysits, and volunteers when he's not working. But most importantly he took Zayn in, and another week on the couch helped Zayn to realize that.

It's why he's standing in an apron, kneeding bread to make a loaf. Zayn wonders who in the hell eats bread by itself. He even asks Harry ( he gets, "No one, Zayn, but we're a bakery and it's our job to make bread," as a reply) but he ignores his answer, thinking it's bullshit (it is bullshit).

"Harry," Zayn calls, still concentrating on kneeding the hunk of dough. He doesn't know how long he needs to, is the problem. He's perfectly fine with punching bread; he's not fine with doing its for hours.

"What?"

"How long do I have to keep this up?"

He can hear Harry come back, probably leaving Margaret (an old lady that works there) to tend to the register, eyeing his work before answering, "All day."

"What?" Zayn barks out angrily, he sticks nose up at the dough and shoves it away. Absolutely not.

Harry laughs, running a frosting covered hand through his hair. "You're just like Zayn, ya know?" Zayn snorts at that, rolling his eyes.

He wasn't stupid, far from it, actually. He knew Harry was talking about him, not some friend he had that looked exactly like him and had the same name as him and wore the same clothes as him. He knows Harry must think pretty low of him if he thinks he'll fall for something so stupid, but he never calls him out on it 'cause he knows the bloke means well. (And he really doesn't want to know about his past. If Harry knows he can keep it to himself.)

"Maybe Zayn's like me," Zayn answers back, biting his lip so he doesn't add an unneeded curse at the end of it, not wanting to scare Harry (, though he knows it'll take a little more to scare Harry away).

"Maybe," Harry answers with a chuckle. He suddenly stops laugh, still smiling but a little more serious. "You can go home. I know baking isn't your thing, but I do appreciate your help."

"No, I can stay," Zayn declines, "really. Just let me help."

"You've done enough," Harry assured, placing a hand on Zayn's shoulder, "now go home. You can make it up to me by making dinner tonight." Zayn nods, laughing a little. "Yeah, alright. See you when you get home."

~

For once Zayn was happy to be home. He was happy he could sit down and lay back. He was happy enough that he could get off the couch after.

He was just happy.

Zayn was halfway into an episode of Spongebob when he hear a shuffle in the kitchen.

"Harry?"

He doesn't get an answer, to his frustration. He crawls off the couch and into the kitchen. "Harry?"

Still no answer.

"I swear I'm gonna kick you-"

Zayn gasps, cutting himself off. He stares at the figure in the kitchen, which was definitely not Harry.

She was small, and looked oddly around twelve years old. Her hair was a fair length, black and shiny. Her eyes were hazel, her skin tan. She smiled at Zayn, mouthing something that he can't quite place.

"Zayn, I'm home," Harry calls suddenly from the front door. Zayn doesn't acknowledge him, instead choses to stare at the girl waiting for her move.

Instead of freaking out, ( he doesn't know why she isn't freaking out? She just got caught sneaking into their house, but instead,) she takes a step closer to Zayn, running a hand along his arm.

Zayn opens his eyes and he's in an old dirty room. He screams a gun raised to his head. Three females are sitting infront of him against a filthy wall, tears gathered in their eyes. He can hear the gun click next to him as he cries softly. The gun goes off. "Safaa!" The eldest of the females screams as Zayn closes his eyes and his heart stops beating.

"-Zayn? Zayn are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah," Zayn answer rubbing at his slightly sore head. "Harry," Zayn asks now realizing the girl was gone, "what happened to the girl."

"What girl, Zayn?"

"The one that was standing right there. What happened to her?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zayn."

Zayn frowns, shaking himself off he mumbles, "I'm sorry. It's nothing."


	3. Chapter 2

Zayn checked the whole house, every crack and crater looking for the girl and couldn't find her. It's weird, really weird because Zayn saw her. Zayn knows he saw her, even though Harry didn't. Even though she randomly disappeared. Even though he had no evidence or explanation. He just knows. And, like the great friend he is, Harry doesn't judge. He let's Zayn think it over with a comforting smile and shoulder to lean on. Zayn can't help but be so attached to Harry, and absolutely lost if he wasn't around. Harry was so kind, and all Zayn had at the moment. Harry was his only friend or family.

He was there when Zayn was slowly choking himself with the suspense. The little girl was a horrifying experience for him. Who was she? Where had she came from? And if she was fake, why had her touch felt so real? And what had happened when he did touch her? And most importantly, who's "Safaa"?

His head spun with so much information, his eyes always bagged and bruised. The little girl ruined him.

"Zayn, enough of this. It's quite ridiculous. Don't look at me like that. I gave you your time and it's up. I know what you need. Trust me. Now c'mon, get up. We've gotta go or you'll be late." Zayn doesn't complain. He gets of the couch he's been sulking on for a week, a brushes a lazy hand through his hair. He follows Harry up to his room and snags a pair of his loose fitting jeans and shirt to wear. He has yet to buy new clothes, and he really didn't want to walk around in bloody rags until he decided he had enough. And Harry's clothes, loose and baggy, gave him a bit more room to breathe.

Deep breaths, he has to remind himself, just breathe.

"C'mon, let's go." Harry ushers him out the flat, and Zayn just follows because Harry wouldn't lead him to trouble. He just wouldn't.

And just like that, Zayn ends up outside a fancy restaurant with his hands stuck in his pockets. He looks at Harry with tired, confused eyes and Harry just grins back. "Don't worry, Zayn, we'll get you out of this funk."

Zayn chuckles because Harry's the only person he knows that would say somebody's in "a funk". But then again, Harry's the only person Zayn knows.

"I know we will."

~

The surprise was a job, a high class job as a buss boy, bussing his ass to wash dishes and clear tables. It's more than Zayn could ask for, even if he complains. A job was what he wanted. His own pay check, his own half of the rent, and a way to pay Harry back for all he's done.

One man, a regular, was a pain, unfortunately, and Zayn just couldn't enjoy his job with him constantly irritating Zayn. The old man, Mr. Rogers, just loved giving Zayn a hard time, and looked pleased when doing so, even though Zayn had only been at the job, a week or two. When he'd come in every Friday, Sunday, and Tuesday, he'd make sure to watch Zayn pick up his plates and comment on his attire and manners. And most comments got to his boss, and not one of them were uplifting at all. It angered Zayn that this man constantly bullied him.

He hadn't came back to life to put up with him. Or, he doesn't think he did.

~

Zayn gets an itch when Rogers doesn't come in on Sunday. He brushes it off as paranoia at the beginning, and tries to ignore the crawl off his skin. But he couldn't; he just couldn't.

~

Closing up was another job for the buss boy. Zayn had keys to the restaurant and locked up with them. But not until he washed the dishes from the last customers and ushered them out the door. He likes leaving as quick as possible so he can strip of his uncomfortable uniform, but of course, just as he was locking the door Rogers walks up.

"I want the regular, Mr. Malik," he says, giving Zayn a serious look. Which he couldn't actually mean. It was too late at night and Zayn needed to get home, but then again, leaving Rogers out by himself would surely get back to his boss, one way or the other.

"Sure Mr. Rogers," Zayn mumbles with the least irritated voice he could muster. He opens the door again and leads Rogers inside. "Sit, I'll get your food." Zayn doesn't actually know how to make the dishes, but he's seen his co-workers and thinks he can figure it out if he tries hard enough.

"Alright. So, a pot," Zayn starts, trying to get his thoughts together. He turns around to reach into the cabinets, shocked to see Rogers behind him, staring at him with silent, dead eyes.

"Mr. Rogers, you can't be back here." Zayn tries to explain, but Rogers stays silent. The silence gives Zayn the itch he had earlier that day. His skin crawls under Rogers' gaze.

Zayn gasps when Rogers reaches out to Zayn, "Help me." Zayn doesn't blink as Rogers comes closer, yet he disappears before Zayn's eyes, before he comes in contact with him.

"What. The. Fuck." 

"Watch your language!"

The voice he recognizes as Rogers is powerful, louder than it's ever been, coming down on Zayn's eardrums with an ache. What happens next shocks Zayn horribly, but Rogers' hand comes out of nowhere, striking Zayn across his face.

(~

Zayn's can see the restaurant as he walks inside it. The light is bright outside, gleaming into the windows giving the restaurant a glow. He orders, "The regular." He can see his food being made. He can see his co-worker shuffling by with something poking out of her apron. She spills it into the dish and gives it to the waiter.

Rat Poison.

The food is brought to him and he eats delightfully. A boy walks up and clears the table. He snaps a rude judgment about his manners and shushes him off. His stomach hurts, but he walks out the restaurant feeling light.

~)

Zayn pulls away breathing heavily. His breathing stops and doesn't start up until Zayn fully processes what happened. Fuck.

Mr. Rogers is gone, but Zayn doesn't notice. He's too busy running out the restaurant, dialing the number of his boss and locking the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start putting these () around the parts where Zayn has visions since I can't do italics. But I've gotta make the best of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Zayn sits in the police station for the longest. Harry's by his side with a hand on his shoulder. Everybody that ate at the restaurant sense Friday sit with him, coughing and wheezing. They were poisoned, all of them. Zayn tries to think back to who had done it. He remembers the blue painted nails, but half is co-workers had that ridiculous fad. It was a girl. A blonde maybe.

Zayn pushes himself to remember but Harry only calms him with gentle words and movements. "It'll come to you, you're stressed. You have to calm down, Zayn. Please calm down."

How could he when he watched Mr. Rogers be killed? A vision, Harry called it when Zayn told him about what he saw. It was just a vision. How could it be when all these people were poisioned and dying? Most are in hospital beds and the rest are getting there, yet Harry calls it a vision.

"I can't calm down until I know who did this."

~

Harry was right, but he always was so, no surprise. After people came with their families to thank Zayn for saving there lives, which only got a pleased grunt back, and quiet nights on the couch, the answer struck Zayn like a lightning bolt.

Angela. Of course she had done it. She hated the job, and had a major crush on Zayn. And Zayn had told her about Mr. Rogers.

Zayn tells Harry who rushes to the phone and calls the cops. When they get there they ask Zayn questions, and have to investigate themselves. It takes them two weeks to get a permit. Zayn was buzzing the whole time. Was he wrong? What if Angela wasn't the killer, what if it had been Jade, her best friend, who had just as much of a motive? And if it was Angela, did Zayn provoke it? He was the one who told her about Mr. Rogers' unfairness.

Zayn brushes off his questions and tries to think about less important, but better things, like the F.R.I.E.N.D.S marathon.

~

The call comes around 3:50 on a Saturday, the predicted day Mr. Rogers died. It's the sheriff but that doesn't interest Zayn so he gives the phone to Harry. Angela had been the killer, "amazingly", and the cops couldn't believe Zayn had solved the murder. Angela was wanted for more than that, she was a serial killer. But Zayn had found her so easily without any connections to the murder and it was amazing.

They were offering him a job. They had talked with "the men higher up" and gotten him "somewhere great"; The FBI.

Zayn denied. Leaving Harry would be hard, too hard to bear. Harry was his family already, and a job wasn't going to take him away from that.

~

Movers came on Sunday morning. Zayn was confused to see them carrying stuff out of his flat, Harry helping them and telling where to put stuff. Zayn's on the couch Harry was helping the mover place away when he awakes. He's surrounded by furniture and lets out a tad shriek when he notices. Harry's smirking at him the whole time, and Zayn wants the punch his teeth in.

"What's going on?"

"We're moving." Harry answers as if it was the most obvious and clear answer to any question you could ever ask, and it only annoys Zayn more because Harry knew that's not what he meant. It also puts a smile on Zayn's face because he said "we're" so he's not leaving anytime soon.

"And where the hell are we going to go? We don't exactly have anything for us anywhere but here!" Harry just keeps grinning and even though Zayn has an idea of what he's getting at, he doesn't call him out on it, because they had nothing there for them there either.

~

Zayn's British. It's something he doesn't tell Harry, but he doesn't have to, because he's sure Harry already knows. But yes, Zayn is British. He read it from his hospital file, all the while thinking, How did I end up here. Zayn, of course, died in Texas, a hot little state at the bottom of the USA's map. Zayn won't say he hates America, but it's hot on completely idiotic levels. It's hot when it doesn't even need to be hot, and when it's not 100 degrees, it's 30. Zayn doesn't hate America, as long as the country stays far away from him. But Zayn also doesn't think he could stay away. America is filled with the worse kind of people. Loud and Friendly. Sure that was being a bit mean, even for Zayn, but still truthful. America isn't the best of places, and certainly not the cleanest, but the people were something else.

Zayn didn't really know how to describe them. They were all kinds of obnoxious, but that made them worth while. They were nosey, noisy, and sometimes just lousy, but most were just interested in being your friend and that made Zayn smile, even if he didn't want to be their friend. Zayn rathered stay away in the darkness than seduce others with a sly mouth like Harry. He watched Harry smile at teenage girls and have them fall into a puddle below their feet, and even if that wasn't technically making friends, it was more than what Zayn had to offer. He's a bit jealous, because the teenagers weren't the only people Harry could possess so easily. He often got along with the toddlers and their parents, and others that were their age. Zayn bit back his jealousy, because it's not like he didn't have his chances. It's not like no one tried to be his friend, because he got offers. It's just that they were turned down because they didn't really want to talk to him. Not when they could converse with someone like Harry. They still infatuated Zayn, the people that is, and Zayn would say they're his favorite part of the country.

Zayn thinks about this as he sits in a chair somewhere in the airport, watching Harry feel up males and females. (Zayn didn't know Harry was bisexual. He feels he should've.) He doesn't see the point of it because they'll be leaving the state soon. Harry must not have processed that thought, because he continuously groped the people around him without a care in the world. Their plane leaves before anything gets too serious and Harry's smirking like he planned that.

"You weren't actually gonna fuck those people, right?" Zayn asks, feeling less and less of the badass in their relationship.

"Nope," Harry answers honestly, "I've got a boyfriend."

Wait. What?

"Since when?"

"Since I was 16."

Zayn imagines a 16 year old Harry with his arm around a boy 2 years older than him. The boy has brown hair that's in a shaggy sweep around his head. Blue eyes that Harry stares into with adoration. He's kissing Harry on the cheek and then saying, "They call us Larry Stylinson." Harry calls him BooBear and lays his head on Mystery Boy's shoulder.

"He actually lives in Quantico, where we'll be moving."

Oh, Zayn can't help but think, How convenient.

**Author's Note:**

> FYI this is on wattpad 2 in case you'd rather read there


End file.
